Powerdown Heartbeat
by d00med
Summary: A young boy with a life full of tragic events finds a spark when he finds that his dream to open a Pizzeria is coming true. Only life is never as kind as it seems to be, and what starts out as an idea only ends in tragedy. Rated M for gore, death, horror, Foxys language, death, the lack of happiness, and lots and lots of death.
1. Prologue: Freddy Fazbear

"Mr and Mrs Fazbear, come in. Take a seat, I assure you that this won't take long."

The teacher stood by the darkened wood desks at the front of the narrow classroom, fingers meshed together and a stern look on his face while the parents entered the room and quietly closed the door behind them. A quiet family, business-like, strict and very formal. The mother, still wearing her work uniform, tottering on absurdly high heels, and the father in his jacket and tie, a small hat on his head that was somehow maintaining balance there.

As they walked to the front of the room, they passed their unfortunate offspring who was sitting in the middle row of desks, one arm propped up so his chin was cupped in his hand, eyes staring at the rotting wood of his desk where someone had found a needle or a sharp object and written into it in their classroom boredom. The entire room was boring - dark, threatening, more like a prison than a school. Outside it was quiet - the other children had already left, eager to return home.

Only one such unfortunate child couldn't relish the freedom of the end of the day, and here he was, sat at his desk, waiting for fate to decide on the scales. He was dressed too smartly for any school - excluding the first day, of course. Many children were comfortable in any kind of leisure wear - tidy, but still comfortable for them to move around in. He himself was dressed in a white button-up shirt with a bowtie at the collar, looking more ready to attend a party or an important dinner than to go to school. Only his white shirt was covered in flecks of mud and some scrapes of dirt from being outside.

He kept away from the adults as they spoke, but he wasn't miserable, nor was he fed up. He was content, having expected this outcome and was patiently waiting for it to end. For, you see, Freddy was incredibly intelligent for his age. Not only was he well polished and groomed on the inside, his mind was just as much cleaned. Holding facts and calculations that others in his class struggled with. Which is what made him the prime target.

He glanced towards the window, staring outside rather than at the horribly unkept desk he was sat at. Only the contents of his desk were pleasing to see - the crude writing, the dark musky wood of the desk, even the horrible squeak of its aged legs were best left ignored.

Usually, Freddy wouldn't stare out of the window - he'd be focused and sharp, but this time something had caught his eye, or so he thought. He shifted his chair closer to the window, leaning up a bit to peer out. He could have sworn he saw a person - no, not an adult, but a boy like himself out there, rooting through the rubbish bin where the grotesque dinnerlady shoved the leftovers. It had been a glimpse, but Freddys sharpness hadn't caught up in time and when he'd looked properly the other was gone. He was beginning to imagine it when something made a cracking noise on his desk, and his head whirled around to look up at his teacher calmly. Any other child would've jumped out of their skin - their teacher was particularly cruel.

"Freddy, you may go now. Think about how you act next time you're handling your classmates."

Freddy didn't have the idiocity to respond to the comment - it would be a punishment waiting to happen, so he nodded his head obediently, and slid to his feet, walking as far ahead of his unfortunate parents as he could.

The teacher wouldn't have believed him had he tried. The boys in his class were brutes, constantly roughing each other up in fights and picking on the squirrel-like kids who were petrified of them. It wasn't a surprise to say that Freddy had gotten on their wrong side far too often. They provoked his intelligence and his constant smart remarks back aggrovated them into trying to start a fight. Freddy wasn't the best at combat but he was smart enough to predict how they were going to act. The first time it had happened he'd done nothing but watched their actions, but now he'd practically studied their fighting to a point that he avoided most of their hits. It was a shame his intelligence didn't get him further in responding to their commentary.

It was a long walk home for Freddy and his parents, who were talking to one another quietly. Freddy could conclude they were either talking about him or business matters, so neither really mattered to him, and he focused on his own thoughts, only being pulled out of them by the one thing that distracted him every time.

He knew it was coming up, so he waited and slowed his walk until his parents were ahead of him, before he stopped walking and nimbly crossed the road. The road was almost empty of cars because not many people could afford to run them, so he didn't have to worry about looking both ways. The reason he crossed the road was not far from where he'd crossed, so he walked briskly towards it so he could just stop for longer and marvel at it through the window.

The local pizzeria. He'd heard about it from other kids from a distance, how they'd had parties there, how the mascots walked around and greeted kids and how generally it was a playful environment. Freddy was by no means childish, but he did have the curiosity that often accompanied children and so it was this that made him stop every day. Looking through the window at the children inside eating their pizza, a mascot towering over them and making hand gestures.

The pizzeria had no name, and the mascots were equally as nameless - to Freddy, that was. It would have been creative to add names to the place, to make them more memorable, but it wasn't a good idea to dwell on it. His parents never took him there and never would, by the looks of it. They had a disliking for greasy restaraunts like this, and a particular disliking for mascots. They were demeaning, apparently.

Freddy simply put it to the idea that, one day, when he was older, he'd go in just to see for himself what it was like, what he'd missed. But right now he had limited time and had to walk a little quicker to catch up with his parents, who had reached the end of the road surely by now. He managed to tear his eyes away from the small stage where the mascots were climbing onto, and turned to run across the road after his family members.

One day, maybe he could own a place like that. He knew his parents would want him in business and with a mind like his it would be stupid not to, but he liked the atmosphere that came with places like that. And he wouldn't be doing the greasy work like cooking or the work like dressing in a suit. He'd be designing it and running it himself, and he already knew who his mascot would be.

At home, Freddy had only one possession in his room he cared more for than anything else, and that was his old stuffed bear named Goldie. He'd never given Goldie his name - his parents had always played the name on the gold fur that Goldie had used to have, and as he grew up the name seemed to stick. But the gold fur didnt, as it faded to a musky cream and then almost to grey. But Goldie was special because, in a way, Goldie gave Freddy his childhood. He brought about Freddys imagination and his need to learn more about everything. And Freddy, despite being more mature now, still loved his bear. Only once he'd slept without Goldie nearby - when his family insisted on washing the bear to try and get the grey out - and that was the only time Freddy had had a nightmare. It had been dark, with only two eyes staring at him, then two hands reaching out. Not for his throat, not for his chest - for his eyes. He'd woken up at the 'touch' and been unable to sleep for the rest of the night. Goldie made him feel safe. Yes, Goldie would be his mascot at his future pizzeria.

Freddy Fazbears Pizzeria. 


	2. Chapter 1: So It Begins

It was snowing again - cascading small frozen droplets, falling so gracefully yet causing so much trouble and so much irritation for those who were being held down by gravity. Anyone who stared out of a window at it would take that moment to admire the droplets, let them fall, watch them land and start over. But being outside in it caused the predicament, the shouting, the screams of fury as people were held up on their way to the factories and shops.

Freddy was not offered the chance to watch them fall through a window, nor was he given a chance to get angry at the snow. Standing outside in it, ankles buried in the deep bank of snow he'd stumbled into, and reaching out to watch the snowflakes land on his palm, melting away instantly - but not as quickly as it would normally. His hands were frozen cold, and his face was pale, save for his red cheeks and nose from the general cold making his body temperature go haywire.

And then, they were gone. The snowfall was moving on, towards the town, away from where Freddy stood on the outskirts. He wished he could venture forward, but something scared him about towns - something he couldn't remember. His head ached when he tried. He didn't want to get close and be yelled at by the people who were always yelling, always so.. angry. It confused him and he kept his distance where he stood.

And then he moved - not forwards, not backwards, but to the side, head still craned to look at the houses as if worried people would see him out in this. It was hard to walk in the deep snow and more than once he had to unbury his foot, leaving a crater where it had been behind him as he practically stomped his way through. He was heading in a direction he knew well, but it was hard to be as careful and as precised about his movements as he had been before.

Behind the local shop, which was attached to a bakery and a butchery, were a row of bins - metal, but firmly sheltering their contents away from the snow. Some snow had piled up on top already, but it wasn't a bother for Freddy to wipe it away, ignoring how it fell onto his shoes and buried them again. If it weren't for his gloves, he wouldn't have dared. But he'd be dead otherwise, so he was thankful for them.

In fact, all he had was what he was wearing right now, so he could be thankful for that too. Leather gloves, smartly matching the kind that jockeys were given; a longsleeved jacket that covered up his button-up shirt and bowtie, and his usual black trousers and heavy boots. His head was unprotected, and he longed for a hat to keep the cold away from his senses, but it was wishful thinking.

After scraping the last of the snow off of the lid of the bin, he pulled it up as hard as he could, managing to unfreeze it from the bottom half of the bin and put it down carefully. If anyone knew he was there he'd be chased off, and that was the last thing he wanted. These bins hadn't been emptied yet - the cold put the shop owners off from doing it, and so most of it was piling up. Most of the food wasn't far out of date, but no one bought food that was a day past its date, so they threw it out. For Freddy, it was a good thing, as he pulled out anything that looked good and that the bugs and rats hadn't gotten to first - a loaf of bread wrapped in plastic, a roll from the bakery that was only partly nibbled at. He thought he'd found an apple until he noticed the bottom was beginning to rot, which was a shame because he'd been fond of apples.

He couldn't remember where or when, but he remembered vaguely the memory of having an apple once - sliced up the way oranges came apart, put on a plate infront of him. It was very faint but it still increased his longing for fruit, and his stomach agreed as he threw the apple back into the bin with slight disgust and major disappointment.

This was growing to be the best hoard he'd found in weeks, as he dug down and found some things he'd only ever had on occasion - a slightly melted slab of chocolate, for example. Chocolate sometimes made him feel unwell but he was happy to have something different. In fact, it was definitely starting to become too good to be true when he heard a yell and stopped in his tracks.

Were they coming to get him? Was he caught? He seized the lid and pushed it back on, gathering up his hoard in his arms to make a run for it, when he noticed no one was running towards him. The only person he saw was running away from him, not seeing him and waving an arm about with their ridiculous yelling. How they were running in the snow was amazing, and at the sight Freddy knew something bad was going to happen.

He'd only just gotten clear of the bins when he saw it - someone else running for it, holding something under their arm and streaking a marvelous speed across the bank and over the top of the hill towards the fields. Clearly their chaser was giving up as the figure almost came to a stop at the top of the hill, and looked back at the person who'd been chasing them. They were only stopping to wave the item teasingly, before vanishing into the snow.

Freddy hadn't realised he'd been holding his breath until it wafted out infront of him in heavy breaths, still holding the food to him. He'd partly squashed his bread in the grip but it didn't matter - he was still far too startled by what had just happened. Where had they come from? What had they stolen? Were they camping nearby? Would they be stealing food like he was to survive?

Freddy felt it wouldn't be best to ask the person if they saw him, and he turned his attention to the person stalking back to the shop, muttering about thieves. By the apron, it was clearly one of the bakers, so whatever had been stolen must have been genuine, warm bread or a deliciously toasted pastry. Freddy would never dare something like that - it made it too easy to be caught.

Instead, as soon as the coast was clear, he began to trek back to his hideout, trying not to stumble as the snow got deeper. It hadn't moved to the town at all - but to the fields, where he was slowly sinking in a frozen ocean. Ahead of him were a collection of small buildings that were darkened by nothing more than fire, too dangerous to live in and were constantly under threat of being pulled down. But no one had the money to do that right now, so Freddy felt comfortable settling himself into one of them and keeping himself warm. The dark wood helped conceal a fire, and the fact the roof was still partially intact kept the smoke inside, so no one would guess he was in there.

Putting all of his food down and settling by the small pile of rocks he used to char a fire, he sat and leant against the wall, closing his eyes and relaxing his mind. He had to stop himself eating straight away despite his hunger - if the snow kept up, food would be harder to find, and he'd be in trouble. Hopefully what he'd gotten would last a long time.

And he tried, tried so hard to figure out how he got here, what had driven him to this point. The constant smell of burning was around him, and it only strived him more to think. But all he could see in his mind were flames, and then... something burning. Something grey. Flames, screaming, a figure. Freddy couldn't patch it together, and felt he never could. His memory was shattered into fragments and he just couldn't remember anything more than being on his own.

But sometimes, in his head, he saw a little golden bear. That was the only thing he knew - where from, he couldn't determine, but Goldie came to mind when he saw it. Where was this bear that haunted him?

Freddy quickly drifted off, wrapping himself around his bundle of food protectively as his mind melted and reformed into a dream. Was it a dream? He didn't know - it never felt good or bad to sleep, and to determine dreams from nightmares and vice versa was incredibly hard for him to do. He had odd dreams, dreams he felt he'd lived before.

He had pleasant dreams, though, sometimes. He dreamt of a place he called his own, where he played with other kids and had a good time, and had proper meals and friends. He had books by the shelves and a family who didn't look down their noses at him, who respected his intelligence. He dreamt of his own restaraunt, as he had so many times before, where he would have his own mascot, Goldie. Goldie was the only fixed thing in his memory, so in his dreams he trusted entirely in his mechanical mascot. And Goldie was an attraction to everyone all around, bringing people all around the world to see him.

Welcome to Freddy Fazbears Pizzeria, a magical place for kids and grown-ups alike.

It was a dream he never wanted to wake from, and he did, so often. It was always when he had happy dreams that he woke up early - the nightmares plagued him long into the mornings, or left him entirely sleepless. Such was the case now, as the dream of Goldie on stage as a mechanical mascot faded and his dream was taken from him.

Freddy opened his eyes and reached for the roll, breaking off the crust around where it had been nibbled before taking nibbles out of it himself. The roll was almost entirely stale and it was hard to get his teeth through it, but food was food and at least bread wasn't in need of any preparation like actual meals. He could just eat pieces here and there and be fine.

The building wasn't much of a shelter for warmth, so he often had to take off his jacket and try to blanket himself. Scurrying down under thick covers was something he'd only wished to happen - because blankets were comforting, and he knew he'd feel safe wrapped in one. He wished for a lot of things - warmth, a place to stay, people to talk to, to feel like he wasn't on his own. He only hoped for one thing - survival. 


End file.
